Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

Rogue

Again the Hand of the Crimson Council found himself nodding in satisfaction as he watched his enhanced tjor'riin march the Kaeldis pit's human sorcerers out of the entrance two days later, a full day ahead of his desired deadline. The magic casters, taken when the final defenses mustered by the pit's Tjor'riin garrison fell, were bedraggled and battered, their hands tied behind their backs and their mouths gagged against vocalizing spells. Despite their abilities, in truth they played little part in the actual battle for control of the pit. A good thing, since he would shortly be requiring their cooperation in getting the pit back into production to increase his enhanced tjor'riin numbers.

Grating Tjor'riin voices asked whether the surviving casters were loyal to Bren, heavy broadswords swiftly separating head from neck on those that nodded yes. In a matter of moments it was over and Osteon strode forward. Flanked by enhanced tjor'riin bodyguards, proof against any possible counterattack launched by the handful of loyalist Tjor'riin that managed to survive the initial assault to flee into the surrounding forest, he approached the line of casters.

"As you kneel, bound and gagged, many of you are wondering what has just happened," he began in a smooth, powerful tone, turning to stride along the line of now kneeling sorcerers. His rain-soaked robes slapped fitfully at his legs but did nothing to detract from his position of power as he loomed over them.

"And many of you are wondering why you're still alive. My fellow sorcerers, I can answer both questions with one reply. Loyalty. You see Master Bren, who trained not only you but me as well in the dark arts, has divorced himself from the Crimson Council, the guiding body of our guild and empire. So the council has decided to bring him back into line by destroying his supporters. You few were wise enough to chose loyalty to the council instead of our former master. Hence your survival. Now, if you wish to see that survival continued, you'll cooperate with us and get this pit back into production as quickly as possible."

His eyes narrowed.

"If you agree, then nod once. Good, good. No dissenters, I see. I thought as much." He nodded to the tjor'riin sergeant in charge of the guard detail, who curtly ordered her soldiers to help the sorcerers stand and began to escort them back into the pit.

As he watched the sorcerers being herded back inside, the commander of his attacking force strode across the fallen tree-littered battlefield, their wet trunks blackened where Osteon's magic struck them in the opening moments of the battle. Osteon looked up at him when the big enhanced dark soldier joined him.

<<Commander. Status?>>

<<The pit is fully secured, lord Osteon,>> the tjor'riin quickly replied, turning to also watch the sorcerers being herded inside. <<The breeding floor took little damage during the actual fighting and the breeding population was immediately secured. I've established a perimeter to guard against any loyalists that may attempt a counterattack. My scouts, however, indicate the majority has fled northwest, to the next loyalist pit some five days distant.>>

Osteon smiled thinly at that part of the report.

<<Little good that'll do them. That pit is next on our list.>> The smile vanished. <<Any sign of loyalist troops in the field?>>

The big dark soldier shook his head tightly, sending the rain beaded on his helmet scattering in every direction. Already soaked to the bone from the near-steady rain pounding this part of the Gyren with typical winter ferocity, Osteon ignored the handful of drops that managed to reach him.

<<Our scouts intercepted any attempt they made to send for aide. Whatever loyalist troops were fielded from this pit have long gone north to battle against the humans or the hybrid army in the central Gyren.>>